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Yes, I really do like to step into the world of the surreal and strangeness every now and then, all the pretty kitty cat beads put that side of me on hold, and before you think I’m complaining, I’m not, but I must, must, must remember to visit the more bonkers side sometimes : )

because I really hate nonsense, and am disinclined to play ‘the game’ even if it means having shot myself in the foot.

Once upon a time when I lived in South Africa, I went to an exhibition with a friend, about whom it turned out that I knew very little. As we wandered around the exhibition I tried to read all the bumph, the wordiness on the cards by every piece, after a while I grew exasperated by what I thought was time consuming, confusing, and irrelevant to what I was seeing. I figure that ‘art’ should speak for itself, does it really need to have to have a pile of words stuck next to it to make it legitimate? As soon as I see a lot of words accompanying art works, I begin to suspect that they are a filler for something that is missing from the work, or even a filler for what is missing from the viewer that they need to be impressed by fuddle. All I really want to know is who the piece is by, their date of birth (and death if applicable) and perhaps the date of the creation of the piece. The rest, I feel, is up to me, I either like it, or I don’t like it, I see something in it, or I don’t. Should I not understand it as intended, perhaps due to a lack of relevant education (which is quite likely) then that is a pity, but I don’t see why the accompanying slog of words should be so fuzzy that they begin to slide on the slippery slope to pretentiousness. The moment that happens, I get flashbacks to the exact and marvelous moment when I first fully comprehended the story of the Emperor’s New Clothes.

Anyway, I found myself on my soapbox, telling my friend that I felt that all the words one had to plough through were pointless, and that I felt that they aided in making the artwork inaccessible, art should speak for itself blah blah blah, and what about the school party just coming in, what would they make of it all? I certainly didn’t understand the references, so how would they understand them? My friend responded that of course they would understand and that she had written the accompanying words with the person putting the exhibition on, and I would understand if I took the time…oops. Talk about wishing the ground would swallow me up. Why didn’t I know that my friend did this sort of writing? I think I always felt that she moved in rarefied circles where there was an element of a secret language, which says lots about me and the circles I moved in, mine were not academic at all! Still, I’m glad I said what I said, and my friend was great about it, I know that I wouldn’t have been able to be so honest had I been trying not to hurt her. Years later I still can’t be bothered with the wordiness, and I’m not the only one, or this wouldn’t exist www.artybollocks.com when I first saw it, I grinned and grinned.

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Blimey, I haven’t posted in a while.
What’s been happening in my world in all these months, let me think…umm…well, I’ve been making beads (as usual) and wondering how best to market them, which reminds me – I need to say a few words about Twitter (you’re off the hook, as you don’t have to read any of this, I won’t know). Many of the people I know make beads and jewellery, some of them tweet about new listings on their websites, some of them do it just a bit too often, and I don’t enjoy it. Those are the people I un-follow rapidly, it’s so uninteresting to have one’s time line filled with over-excited hyper posts about newly listed jewellery and so on – does advertising on Twitter work for them? If so then I admit it, I’m a bit envious, but un-following persistent self marketers is like putting the phone down on double glazing salesmen and their ilk – a relief. There is already too much bombardment with over use of exclamation marks, so I like to follow occasional tweeters who have something to add to my day (yes, even Brian Belo, no apologies for following Big Brother contestants).
When it comes to my own Tweets, they’re pretty dull, I realise that Tweeting is an art form in itself. The well known people I follow (mostly) have something interesting to say because they are going about their famous fabulous business and letting the world in on snippets of it. I can’t help but be interested in what they are doing, whereas in my quiet and unremarkable life I might be so pleased that the cat let me cut her nails again that I feel it is worth tweeting about, but who wants to know about that? Maybe people who know and love my cat (or me) or people who wish their cat would let them cut it’s nails? In case you want to know, my cat lies back and practically holds her paws out for me to trim her nails, so it’s not as if I have a big cat nail clipping secret or anything.
One of my favourite tweeters is my friend Sue. Sometimes all she writes is a word like ‘can’t’, and because I know Sue, I get (I think) what she means. Sue isn’t famous, but she is thoughtful, quirky and often funny. When I go to bed the last thing I do is check Twitter on my iPhone, you might think this is a bit sad, however, I’m using Twitter to overcome my habit of checking the Sky News app before I go to sleep. The last news story that upset me so badly and made my heart leap with shock was not floods in Pakistan, but Sydney the pygmy goat being attacked by people who ripped his horns out and left him to die after what must have been a bewildering attack. I do struggle with my inclination to feel more strongly about animals than human beings, because the inbuilt message I have is that it is wrong to put animals before people, but I can’t help feeling that Sydney was just fine snoozing away in his dark hollow under the trees until pointless premeditated selfish human action killed him. Floods are part of what happens in nature, and terrible as it is, we have little control over it and just have to do the best we can to overcome what is thrown at us. I say ‘us’, truth is I have never had to contend with losing my home and most of my family and friends, I don’t know what it is like to lose the entire structure of my life and face living in camps with little food, sanitation or comfort and a formless future. One might argue that human nature means that animals are tortured everyday, it’s part of life. I’m not aware of animals torturing people everyday, although doubtless it happens that animals attack humans. The difference is that most adult humans have a choice in whether they maim and torture, they just don’t make it. Anyway, I decided it would be better to go sleep with something less awful than horrible news, and as I am permanently attached to my iPhone, it may as well be Twitter.
I used to read books before I went to sleep, but after moving back to England David and I were very happy to discover Radio 7 and let it read us to sleep, it also removed the problem of me reading in bed and therefore having the light on which disturbed him, after all, he’s the one who gets up and goes to work in the morning. Unfortunately, Radio 7 repeats so many programmes that I am now less enthralled, although I can listen to Russel Thorndike’s ‘Doctor Syn’ stories read by Rufus Sewell over and over, it’s a joy, so they can repeat that as often as they like.
The ‘bad’ thing about this reading compromise at bedtime is that I haven’t read a book in ages, and I mean at least two years. Ok, so I borrowed the latest Stephanie Plum novel from the library recently and whizzed through that, but The Lovely Bones remain only two thirds read, and its such a great book too. I hate not reading, I also miss tv programmes in the evening because I’m in the shed making beads. I have a tv out there, but the reception is laughable. Mind you, while I’m out there I listen to audio books, we have a great library service here and don’t even have to pay to borrow them, so I feel I have some contact with books, even if a lot of them are a bit smushy. Yes, I could read books with the Kindle app, but I haven’t yet found a book I really want, perhaps because I like the feel of paper and a proper flick through the pages to get a taste of the author’s style, samples online somehow don’t feel real. I have downloaded several books, but actually, reading in bed on my side while wearing glasses doesn’t work for me, and no, sitting up in bed neatly propped up against perfect pillows doesn’t really work for me either. Or I don’t work it…whatever. So, I might have to accept that I am no longer the avid reader I was, or knuckle down and make reading time again. Public transport was always useful for that, I read most when I was working and had to get a bus or train. Maybe I ought to get a different job, one outside of the house? I’ll think about it. For a while. Quite a long while, and then, perhaps for a very long time after that. I’m very glad, and fortunate, to be making beads and selling some, it’s all very modest, there will not be holidays overseas and a second car, but I am spared the frustration of a job for the sake of having one, I won’t ever be rich or famous (thank God for the latter) but somehow I have the luxury of being free.
I really ought to go and do something with that freedom, right now.